6 - Lone Wolf
At sixteen years of age, the half-elf was already a few inches taller than his appointed rogue trainer. Standing at six foot two, he possessed the characteristic muscular, toned body of elven males. That did not, however, automatically give him an advantage as a rogue.
He would still have to undergo the necessary, rigorous training to execute successful consanguine manoeuvres, exhibitive of a thief, spy and assassin.
Nevertheless, he knew he was a little ahead of the game there, having gained a certain level of fitness by training in secret for years.
A keen and highly astute observer from an early age, Sauren would steal into the not-so-secret passages between rooms in the Nightflame residence and watch and listen to his father tutoring other rogues and honing their skills.
He particularly enjoyed watching them in the exercise area. A walled courtyard to the rear of the house offered various constructs where Sa'themar and some of his colleagues would build their strength and agility, pit themselves against each other in duels, and timed events – generally keeping themselves physically fit for their profession.
Sauren loved the courtyard. The servants never bothered with it so when his father was away on business, the boy snuck in and used the equipment.
Initially, he had thought it may be difficult explaining the bruises and cuts he'd acquired. As it happened, the staff had become accustomed to the boy returning home with some form of injury or damage to his person or attire. Maintaining his silence, therefore, about certain incidents, he soon mastered deflecting too many questions when new injuries appeared.
And so, he would launch himself fearlessly around the pillars, climb ropes, ladders and practice balance and poise, increasing his endurance. Weighted equipment allowed him to build his then small slender frame into the more emblematic elven shape.
He enjoyed how it all made him feel. Invigorated. Alert. Powerful. And there was something else; something which registered although he did not understand it then. On reaching a certain age, however, he began to comprehend. Especially when he noted some favourable female eyes following him as he would pass by.
All that secret training had most definitely aided his current physique. His mental state had received a very different education. The majority, from tutors and books aplenty, still failed to sate his curiosity about the workings of the world and its people. The boy had demonstrated a hunger for knowledge which even some of his peers were left wondering about.
Other forms of "education" were not so eagerly sought, but they found their way to the young boy. Per contra to all these "incidents" he had kept his silence, vowing that one day, all would be set right.
Now, with an assiduous mind, Sauren studied everything and everyone he came into contact with. His analytical ability was worked upon just as enthusiastically as was his physical well-being. Furthermore, by combining these disciplines an indicative patience resulted. And so, now he had to learn to apply all that and more to the lifestyle of a rogue.
Once more he was under tutelage. This time by a seasoned rogue of the guild.
Sauren studied the man in front of him. Brett Hornsby was without doubt a very dedicated and proficient assassin; the testament of which was accredited by the boy's father appointing the man second in command.
Yet still, Sauren knew there was no love lost between himself and the human rogue. Perhaps it was a deep-rooted resentment towards the half-elf's very existence especially when the human's own wife remained barren? Even in Sauren's somewhat twisted and calculating brain, he doubted that was the reason. Brett was not a man who held such grudges merely because he was not blessed with issue of his own. No. It was more likely to be a simple clash of personalities.
The platinum-haired youth recalled something he had overheard when spying on one of his father's meetings. Keep friends close, but keep your enemies closer still.
While Brett was not an enemy, neither could he be considered a friend – at least not in Sauren's extending circle. He would, nonetheless, show the older rogue the respect he deserved, peppered perhaps with a little subtle scorn now and again. Until of course, he outlived his usefulness one day. But that would be a long time coming, the boy reckoned.
"You're looking remarkably fresh... considering," Brett offered in way of greeting.
Sauren laughed lightly. "Looks can be deceiving. I am still a little ... fragile, that was how you put it was it not?"
"Yes." The older rogue looked him over. He was confident the boy would manage what was expected of him, even if it did result in him throwing up a few times. "Right, then. So you know what is required?"
Sauren inhaled and exhaled lengthily. "Yes. I will be a stable-boy for a few hours."
"Correct. Well, you've been around horses long enough so will know the routine I gather?"
"Yes, I do."
"Go to it, lad. See you in about a couple of hours." Brett moved away and headed in the direction of the dining hall.
Without hesitation Sauren entered the stables. Removing a pair of heavy-duty gauntlets tucked in the belt of his tunic he started to pull them on as he surveyed his workspace and its occupants.
Two mustangs stood in stalls, one black as night the other a soft bay. They turned to look at the boy standing at the entrance. Chewing from a bale the bay snorted flicking its ears and tail before turning its attention back to its food source. The black one whinnied on seeing Sauren.
The platinum-haired boy grinned and strode over to the horse, slowly offering his ungloved hand – a show of affection and at the same time calming the beast. "Hello boy," he said, his voice soft. He ran his palm down over its neck to its shoulder. With another whinny, it turned its head towards Sauren and nudged his chest with its nose. The boy smiled.
The horse was a gift from his father for his sixteenth birthday. Blaze, he'd called him for the flame-shaped white streak which ran the length of his face.
Sauren loved horses. His father had acquired riding lessons for him when he was still a small boy and he had taken to it like makrura* took to water. They had enabled him to escape the confines of the city and some of the unwelcome attention he seemed to draw when out with his guardians and other household staff.
He loved the freedom riding gave him. The sense of being untouchable, spirited, elevated was addictive. Even his tutor, to begin with, was impressed by his aptitude although there had been the odd time when Sauren had recklessly spurred his horse into a gallop. On those occasions, he had to be chased after and stopped before he had ridden into dangerous or unknown territory.
Such was the boy's enthusiasm trainers came and went. There had been no doubt he was a natural but his continual bids for complete freedom left the trainers unsettled. Worried that perhaps they would lose the son of an affluent and highly regarded rogue, or that he would suffer a terrible injury while under their supervision, the trainers' faces changed four times over as many years until finally one kept his nerve ... and the boy under control.
Jonas Marlowe had a true affinity with horses. He understood them like no other and it was this gift which kept Sauren in check, rather than merely a strict teaching regime.
Through him, Sauren learned the majesty of horses. He saw them as something much more than just beasts of burden and creatures to make quick getaways or simply ride into the ground. They deserved tremendous respect, great care and affection. These were attributes the boy found easy to convey to the animals. They were not judgemental, they did not care that he was a half-breed – you treated them well, they were good to you.
Before Sauren knew it he was grooming Blaze's coat, marvelling at the sheen on the beast's back, neck and shoulders. He spoke softly to him, the horse seeming to answer in well-appointed snorts and whinnies. Long slender fingers of his free hand followed the brush which groomed the animal.
He was very proud of his steed and always inspected the farrier's work before he allowed him to shoe his horse. He knew it irked Don as it was his father under scrutiny, but Sauren was insistent that only top quality workmanship from both smithy and leather workers who provided tack was duly afforded Blaze.
"Not quite what you were sent in here to do." A voice from somewhere in the rafters sounded.
Momentarily startled, Sauren dropped the dandy brush and his eyes scanned the upper floor of the stables. A gentle laugh came next. Gauging the sound, the half-elf deduced it was not someone who intended harm, but still, he would exercise caution.
He moved to the ladder and started to climb, slowly. His eyes remained alert as did his ears picking up any sound from the wooden boards and covering of loose hay. The most subtle of sounds came from his left, like a shoe lightly scuffing the floor. He pulled himself up over the ladder rim. He stood stock still, staring in the direction of the sound he'd heard.
His eyes moved slowly in an arc making him face the opposite direction. "Who are you?" he asked, keeping his voice low, calm.
"Your senses are quite impressive, I must say." Came the reply.
Sauren's eyes narrowed. "Your skill in shadow melding is equally so, but I can still see the distortion around you."
"Ah, now you can, but neither you nor Brett saw me when I snuck past you both."
Sauren was surprised. "Indeed! Perhaps I was merely distracted and looking entirely the other way?"
"I ran around you three times."
The young half-elf smirked assuming he must be in the presence of one of his father's reliable elite.
"So you have worked alongside my father and you know Brett?"
"Who me?" The voice omitted a small guffaw. "No, not I. I am a lone wolf. And I heard others speaking with Brett, that is how I know his name."
The news alerted Sauren to this individual being a possible mercenary, an opportunist who was planning to benefit from some of the valuables in the grounds.
As if reading his mind the stranger spoke. "Worry not, I am not here to steal nor spy other than to satisfy my own curiosity."
A crouching figure then materialised just below the sloping roof.
The light filtering through the occasional gaps in the wooden rafters added to Sauren's blurred view of the visitor. Sharp-eyed, however, he absorbed what he could through the rays and dust particles as the visitor moved forward in slow, deliberate steps.
The man appeared to be just a few years older than the half-breed, but already he had displayed the attributes of a more seasoned rogue. His shoulder-length black hair brushed against the collar of his jacket, the odd wisp rippling across his face from his forward progression.
He halted in front of Sauren, bright blue eyes sparkling with mischief and mirth. The platinum-haired man scanned the individual before him. He possessed a pleasant face, youthful, and so the monocle he wore seemed somewhat out of place - more cosmetic perhaps than practical. He was well-dressed. Whether that came from his earnings, thievery or perhaps lineage, Sauren knew not, but there was no denying the man had style. The jacket was a deep blue under which a high-collared shirt was adorned with a decorative waistcoat. The britches were plain black, but well tailored and tucked into recently-heeled boots. By all accounts, he had bore an affluent air.
The man made a flamboyant gesture with his right hand and with his left behind his back he bowed deeply. "Nottley," the man said. "I am Louvel Nottley." He straightened. A playful smirk played at the corner of his mouth. "I would have said "at your service" but that would be a lie."
Sauren relaxed and decided to show a little convivial gallantry to the rogue. Bowing equally as deep but keeping eyes locked with his visitor, he spoke quietly. "Sauren Nightflame. At your ... peril."
Louvel laughed out loud. Sauren grinned back. "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Sauren."
"And yours, Nottley." The half-elf grinned.
"Louvel!" came the indignant reply. The blue eyes flashed and the monocle fell from his right eye to swing on a fine cord attached to his lapel.
"Hmm," Sauren responded instantly noting the man's dislike of being called just by his surname.
Louvel seemed to take measure of the youngling in front of him. He circled him, wearing some rather byzantine expressions and sounding his approval or criticism in short, incoherent mumblings.
Oddly, Sauren did not find the man's inspection of his being threatening or impudent. He thought it a little amusing. "And to what do we owe the pleasure of your unexpected tarriance?"
Louvel halted his circuit of the boy and faced him straight on. "Oh, nothing really, I was merely curious."
"Really? And you have no hidden agenda?"
"Come now, it wouldn't be hidden if I said there was one now, would it?" He waited to ensure the half-elf realised his tease. A smile informed him he did indeed. "No, I have simply been at a loose end today so thought I would see what the most talked about new enterprise to grace our profession was truly like."
"And you have chosen the stables to satisfy your inquisitiveness?"
Louvel laughed. "I admit I have a somewhat bathetic reason for starting in here. I love horses too. They are magnificent creatures."
"I see," Sauren acknowledged. "The magnificent creatures, however, are down there," he pointed to the ladder. "You will only find an occasional bat or bird up here in the rafters."
Again Louvel's laughter reached through the upper section of the building. "That is very true. May I be so bold as to ask for a tour?"
"It would give me great pleasure but I am starting training today and so would suggest another more convenient time. You may, however, see the horses if you wish."
Louvel bowed acquiescence. "After you," he indicated the ladder.
Sauren stepped forward and took to the first rung. Clasping his hands on the ladder's supports and placing his feet similarly, he then slid down the remainder of the way. As he spun at the bottom he was momentarily surprised to find Louvel already waiting at the stalls. He glanced back up at the upper floor, calculating the jump. "You are reckless," he said.
"Correction, I am experienced. You will be able to do that too soon enough." He glanced down and saw the dandy brush on the straw-covered cobbles. He stooped and picked it up. He offered it to Sauren but the boy gestured he was welcome to groom Blaze. Louvel smiled and proceeded to brush the horse. "He is beautiful," he commented.
Sauren leaned against one of the supports and watched the well-dressed rogue as he lovingly drew the dandy over Blaze's haunches, down to his quarters. "Do you own one?"
"I am in between mounts you could say. I'm in town at the moment trying to acquire a decent steed. I have heard the liveries in the region are quite reputable."
"Yes. I could ask my father to advise of the better ones."
"Most gracious of you, thank you."
Sauren found himself very curious about this individual. He was by all accounts a most proficient rogue and obviously, he seemed to be doing well for himself. He seemed most affable actually. And there had been no judgement in the man's eyes.
It was a look Sauren had become accustomed to over the years. When people met him for the first time – at least with the majority of humans (who had a distinct bias against elf and humans uniting), their faces bore a look of disgust.
Granted not all, but the city had been a cruel place in his earlier years. Now he was older and his father was well established even respected by the nobles and various dignitaries, the insults had lessened.
They would never be forgotten though, and for a fleeting moment, his mind conjured the note left for him by Don – all the names of those who would pay for past injuries and denigration. All memorised.
"You are preoccupied I see," Louvel said looking directly at Sauren.
The half-elf blinked and then smiled apologetically. "Forgive me, I am considering all I have to do today."
"No need to apologise, I understand. I have taken up enough of your time I think, so I will take my leave and allow you to continue with your ...training. I admit I do not quite see how cleaning out the stables is applicable, however."
Sauren pushed himself away from the supports and accepted the brush from Louvel. "It teaches one the value of being disciplined, respectful and it aids with stamina."
"Hmm, I see. Well, I am not one to disparage such qualities nor methods so if this exercise is beneficial then so be it."
Sauren reached out to shake Louvel's hand. The rogue accepted the pro-offered hand and shook firmly. "It has been a pleasure, Sauren. I look forward to meeting again one day."
"Likewise," he replied.
Louvel turned and exited the stables, stopping at the entrance to turn to face the half-elf. "I wish you well."
"Thank you...Nottley." Sauren grinned.
The blue eyes narrowed but a smirk played at the corners of his mouth. "Farewell...whipper-snapper."
*makrura - a race of aquatic humanoid lobsters which are capable of surviving on land for short periods of time. Also known as lobstrok